Calypso's Children
by paintedkisses64
Summary: In between 'Dead Man's Chest' and 'At World's End', James Norrington sets off to prove his worthiness to Lord Beckett, uncovering the secrets of an unknown island for Beckett's mysterious motives. Not a BeckettNorrington, sorry
1. Commodore

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim from this chapter on, until the end of this particular story, that I do not own any character, prop, theme song, etc. from Pirates of the Carribean, Curse of the Black Pearl or otherwise.

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Calypso's Children

Chapter One: Commodore

Lord Cutler Beckett lifted the lip of the leather bag that sat before him on the grand desk, and the reek of decomposition magnified through the small opening, through which he could make out the heart that was still pulsing steadily. Flies swooped happily around it, alighting every now again on the grimy bag. Beckett recoiled quickly when the aroma crept up his nostrils, his face scrunched up in distaste. He looked up at James Norrington, bedraggled and gamey, who stared at him with something mixed between desperation and determination. He looked nothing like the man he once was, his brunette hair straddling his shoulders in greasy locks, and his facial hair grown into a beard as unkempt as the rest of him. He looked like a man that had tangoed with squalor. Beckett had heard the rumors of the hurricane and the report of few to no survivors. Norrington had challenged the tempest with nothing behind him but his pride and ship, and lost.

"And I'm supposed to believe this belongs to Davey Jones?" Beckett asked, indicating the bag. "Where is the chest he had it locked up in? You could have easily cut out some poor vagabond's heart and brought it to me, hoping I was either too eager or too stupid to know the difference." Beckett drawled.

"That heart is still beating, isn't it? I don't suppose you've encountered many that do that." Norrington argued, anger thick in his voice.

"Very well," Beckett said lazily, almost draped gracefully over his chair with a nonchalant attitude (though really he was just trying to get as far away from the throbbing organ that still lay on his magnificent oak desk), "I will sign your pardon." he snatched up the pardons that lay next to Davy Jones's heart, and scrawled his signature on the given line. "Congratulations James Norrington, you're a free man."

"I want my position back as commodore." Norrington said quickly.

Lord Beckett looked at him, lips turned down and eyebrows creased like a father who was disappointed in his son. "You have just wheedled your way out of death. Do not take advantage of my charity."

"Wheedled?" Norrington looked aghast and insulted. He was at a loss for words, yet at the back of his mind was kicking himself for actually hoping he would be welcomed back with open arms. This was a government that jumped at the chance to condemn him to death for a crime that was more than far-fetched, to say the least. He was accused of conspiring to liberate the same man that he was, at the time, in pursuit of. He had hoped the misunderstanding could be easily cleared (after all, the person they should REALLY be after was that bastard William Turner), but his hope was quickly deteriorating.

Lord Beckett saw the dread filling Norrington's eyes and smiled inwardly, though he wouldn't have been able to place the reason if he had been asked. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked out from behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back, to stand in front of the hand painted map that spanned most of the wall in his office. He stared at the mass of blank space still left on the canvas, and an idea crept like a smile to his lips.

"However," He began, his back still facing the former commodore, "I've no doubt you would be able to _earn_ your position back." He turned and smiled without a hint of kindness at Norrington. "Nothing should be too hard for the man who... _found_ Davy Jones's heart." Beckett turned back to stare at the map. Norrington felt himself grimacing. He didn't care too much for Lord Cutler Beckett's tone of phrase. It sounded too much like an accusation.

After what seemed like an eternity, James Norrington was afraid that Lord Beckett wasn't going to continue and had simply lost interest, but he finally spoke up. "I lost a map-maker to the southeast islands. I received a letter from a porter of a passing ship that they had spotted the wreckage of one of my ships about a month ago, but no bodies. Normally, I wouldn't bother wasting my time and men searching for the crew of a _map-maker_," He spit out the word like the thought disgusted him, "but he was, unfortunately, the best of his kind, and the only one who knew the exact location of _Calypso in Salo._"

"Calypso in Salo?" Norrington inquired.

"It is an island off the edge of the map, for now,and, like Isla de Muerta, can only be found by a certain means."

"What is so important about this island?"

"You don't need to worry about that." Beckett stated, turning back to face Norrington. "I will give you your title back, my finest crew and ship, and all you have to do is bring back either my map-maker, Dante, or his means of discovering Calypso in Salo."

"How am I to know what it is?" Norrington asked, but Beckett simply turned away again.

"I have faith in you... commodore." He walked back to his desk and picked up a quill, inking it and dragging it across a nearby leaf of parchment in almost illegible writing. He returned the quill when finished and handed it to Norrington. "Deliver this to Mercer on your way out. He should be waiting just outside the door. It will enlighten him of my decision."

James Norrington had no choice but to leave, knowing any further questions on his behalf would only be flippantly unheeded. Before he was completely out the door, however, Lord Beckett stopped him. "Just a moment. You might need this." Norrington turned around. Beckett carried in his hands a familiar sword, held out like an offering. "The sword given to you on your coronation as commodore. I see it only fitting that it should be returned on your– ah– _re_-coronation." Norrington reached out for the hilt of the sword, and it suddenly felt as if time had slowed so every second became an entire minute. It was the sword made by Will Turner's hand, under the guise of his master, Mr. Brown. The sword that had almost moved him to forgive Turner's betrayal. Almost. Everything on the boy's part had been a deception, it seemed, and nothing would please Norrington more than to hold Turner's and his best man Sparrow's life on the edge of the very sword that Turner had made. Irony at its finest moment, indeed. He held it up to the light, admiring the way revenge shined off of the well- balanced steel.

It reflected a hopeful future.


	2. Aboard the HMS Legacy

I named Mercer 'Snoopy' to make it obvious that it wasn't his real name. Thank you for those who've helped. I've edited the first chapter and replaced his true name.

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Calypso's Children

Chapter Two: Aboard the HMS Legacy

"Welcome back" was more than just a greeting to the once again Commodore James Norrington. They were the two words that he longed to hear, if he couldn't hear the three words that any person needed to hear from that one person for whom they longed.

"Welcome back" to your dignity, they said. Welcome back to a valued opinion. Welcome back to life as it should be. As much as it could be in solitude, at any rate.

He had begun to fear that he would never be clean again. That the scum of Tortuga had somehow burrowed itself permanently deep within his veins like a lethal virus, just as piracy is a one way street, but even as he walked up the plank that connected the ship to the dock he could feel that life that he had almost led wither away, like ashes fed to the wind. The memories were scattered now, and would so remain. This was where he belonged, in the rich threads of the military, and under the white wig of authority.

"Welcome back, Commodore." Gillette, an officer who had worked under Norrington before he had resigned, greeted. Gillette had fought with him against the cursed pirates of the black pearl. The pirates, unable to die, had taken many a good man's life that night at Isla de Muerta. After that night Gillette had decided to take a break from the military. He had told Norrington that he wanted to be by his wife's side during the pregnancy of their first child, Isabel, though she wasn't due for months. Norrington had let him go. He knew that night had shook Gillette's nerves. It had scared him, seeing so many of his kinsmen die, and he so powerless to save them, or himself. So much blood reminds one of their mortality. Norrington knew, because he felt the same thing, and saw the same emotions shaking in Gillette's eyes as he had in the mirror. "You've no idea how glad we all are to hear that you are safely returned," Gillette continued, indicating the rest of the officers overseeing the sailors as they made the ship ready to sail.

"I think it's safe to say that I feel the same," Norrington replied as he stepped onto the ship, walking with Gillette up the stairs to the helm, avoiding the bustle of the sailors. Many of them were familiar, and some grunted a greeting in passing as they carried kegs and barrels of gunpowder and provisions between them, but most of them ignored him. The captain approached them, saluting in respect.

"We've been delivered the heading, Commodore, and we're nearly ready to make way. As soon as I get word from my first mate that the provisions are stocked we'll set sail."

"Thank you, captain." Norrington replied. He walked over to the starboard railing and looked across the busy dock to Port Royal. He didn't know if was a jilted feeling, or the increase of commotion and traffic that came with Lord Beckett and his commerce, but the port didn't feel quite the same. It didn't feel like home. Then again, after the events that had ensued, things really shouldn't feel the same, but now that he had his life back it was only a matter of time before he felt at home again.

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Lord Beckett rested his chin on his clasped hands pensively, his elbows resting on the arms of the ornately carved chair that hindered his petite form, rather than complimenting it. He was staring at bag that held the heart of the scourge of the seas, his mind churning like a tempest. How best to manipulate the power of Davy Jones? He could stab the heart that very moment, and rid the world of the ethereal beast, which would leave his leviathan free to roam the oceans. No pirate with half a brain would dare embark out into such danger. But then the waters would be as equally untreadable for his own merchants, the East India Trading Company. He would need more than just a threat; how did he express his own control over the beast– there must be some way to make him do his bidding. One answer laid in the mists of Calypso in Salo, but there was no promise that plans would not go awry.

If all else failed, he held powerful persuasion over Davy Jones.

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"Weigh anchor! Set the sails!"

Commodore Norrington made his way into the hold as Smith, the first mate, yelled out orders to the sailors. They were setting out, and it would be a week's journey to get to the island that Lord Beckett had specified. His footsteps thunked loudly on the wooden steps as he descended. The walls were varnished in a dark cherrywood, and the borders that ran along the junction of wall and ceiling were ornately carved with flora and fauna. It would be such a waste if the ship were ever to befall a damaging storm; all of that meticulous carving and designing for naught. The entire ship looked as if it had been built for a king (evidence of Beckett's influence), and implored one to wonder how much effort had been left to spend on the durability, but he was sure that Lord Beckett would accept nothing less than the best in all aspects of a ship. He may be full of himself, but he was by far no fool.

The room reserved to serve as Norrington's quarters was evident, though he had left before a proper tour could be given. There was a frame around the door that traced around all sides except where the door contacted the floor. The door itself was larger and had a darker paint glossed over it. Norrington turn the brass knob and walked inside, his footsteps immediately silenced by a thin burgundy carpet. The room was no more grand than his had been on the Dauntless, which in a way relieved him. Too much of a good thing could be stifling.

Norrington sat down at the desk, getting a feel for his surroundings. There was a map spread out before him, and several tools to chart across were organized neatly on top. Maps seemed to be a theme for Beckett, and his desire to fill in and make sense of the world seemed like more of an obsession than a hobby. He got up out of the chair, suddenly feeling restless, and made his way back onto the noisy deck.

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I'm sorry it's slow going. I've got a busy schedule, but my life would be completely empty if I couldn't do this. But the next chapter will be up very shortly, and I'm super excited. We officially move out of the introduction and into the story next chapter. 


	3. Island of the Cannibals

1Calypso's Children

Chapter Three: Island of the Cannibals

Two longboats drifted away from the Legacy one and a half weeks after its departure from Port Royale. Commodore Norrington and lieutenant Gillette sat patiently in one boat as two scouts rowed toward the island that loomed verdant and tropical in the near distance. Four other soldiers followed closely behind in the other boat. They were only meters from the shallow waters, and all was silent under the bright but gaunt sun. Nobody spoke; there was a supernatural feeling surrounding the island, but it wasn't certain if it was truly an ethereal feeling or just the wreckage that floated on the water and occasionally bumped against the boats.

When the boats nudged the sandy bottom that would rise to become the beach the men got out of the boat slowly, and made their way onto the shore cautiously. They were all looking around for signs of life, but the only living things seemed to be a few birds and insects. Continuing to remain silent, Norrington motioned orders to his men. They paired up and separated, a sword or musket ready in their hands.

Norrington and Gillette reached a village of some kind as they made their way up the steep incline of the mountains. There were what seemed to be crude houses, intricately woven out of vines or branches, and there were skulls everywhere, making the silence suddenly suffocating.

"I wonder where everyone is." Gillette murmured. Norrington could see beads of sweat trickling from underneath his wig when he turned to look at him.

"I'm sure we don't want to know." he answered.

"Excuse me, but is someone out there?" Both men jumped slightly at the frantic disembodied voice, weapons raised and ready for combat.

"Who's there?" Norrington demanded, eyes darted around.

"I- I'm in... a hut..." the voice claimed unsurely. Norrington motioned to Gillette with his head to start checking the dwellings, and he did the same, pushing the wooden doors to check inside. Eventually he came to a larger one, and inside, through the darkness, he could make out a cage hanging from the ceiling with something obscure lumped inside. The sunlight streamed in through the open door, and the figure in the cage moved. The girl grabbed the brownish white bars of her cage, rising up on her knees, eyes wide. When Norrington saw her he rushed forward, sheathing his sword.

"Gillette!" He called. He looked around the cage for some type of opening, then addressed its prisoner. "Are you harmed?"

"No." she replied softly, turning on her knees with him as he circled the cage. "My name is Anna."

Norrington looked up at her, and then back down at the cage. "Let's just get you out of here." Gillette burst through the door before Norrington properly finished his sentenced, skidding to a stop before he collided with the other man.

"The villagers," he panted, "... hostile...!" As if to prove a point a spear came whizzing past the open door, missing Gillette's head by only inches. He yelled out, falling to one side, and Anna shrieked in terror, holding her head in between her hands and knees. Norrington looked past them and saw a group of five men or so in loincloths, their skin dark underneath paint and infected piercings. They were yelling amongst themselves in a speech he couldn't understand, but the spears he comprehended clearly. Norrington unsheathed his sword again and began hacking at the bars of the cage, shouting orders to Gillette.

"Close that door! Don't let them get in! Push that bed in front of the door; find another exit for us!" Gillette was all "yessirs" and bumbling loyalty as he complied. Norrington stopped swinging his sword at the cage and grabbed the splintered bar in frustration. "What is this thing _made_ out of?" he found a spot where the network of bars was wrapped together in thick tweed and carefully began to saw at it. It began to give. Finally that section became separated, and Norrington pulled them apart to make a big enough hole for the girl to climb out of. She accepted his hand as she pulled herself out of the cage, keeping her tan skirt gathered in one hand so it didn't snag.

There was a loud popping sound outside, and the yelling stopped momentarily. Then it began again, angrier, like a nest of hornets that had been attacked by an ignorant little boy who had armed himself with stones.

"The rest of the men have arrived!" Gillette exclaimed happily, looking through the space between the door and the woven wall of the hut. Norrington approached Gillette and watched over his shoulder as the other soldiers spread out against the natives. One of the soldiers had a smoking gun pointed upwards. Norrington assumed that he had fired it off into the air instead of at one of their adversaries, who stayed a few yards in front of them, waving their spears and yelling in their foreign tongue, but nothing more. The other soldiers raised their firearms and pointed it at the natives, and they quieted, exchanging confused glances amongst themselves. They didn't know what the weapons were, and had no clue how dangerous they were; only that they made a thunderous bang when fired.

Norrington pulled out his pistol and cocked it. "Move."

Gillette turned and stepped aside, looking down at the pistol and then at Norrington worriedly. "Sir?"

Norrington angled himself so that he could aim at the group of painted men from the crack, which measured about five to six inches wide. Gillette licked his lips nervously, thinking about how many there were compared to their party, but was smart enough (in his opinion) not to say anything as Commodore Norrington took aim, squinting his eyes in concentration. The natives were no longer at the door; they had backed of when the navy officers had arrived, and now were quite some distance back, making it even harder for the aim from the door.

The shot went off, and a sun-bleached brittle skull that had been shoved onto the hilt of the tribe men's spears exploded. Everyone jumped, the officers looking around to see who had fired, and the natives yelling with scared and shocked expressions. They began pointing at the officers, making big motions with their hands, waving them over their heads, or shaking the beads around their necks, stomping their feet.

"Maliki Liki!" "Aboogi!" They yelled amongst themselves. It seemed like they weren't quite sure what to do, but finally, after a larger amount of the party turned and fled, they all backed away quickly.

Norrington put away his pistol, and he and Gillette worked together to pull the rickety bed away from the door. "That was genius, Commodore." Gillette grunted as he pulled on the wooden frame of the bed. Norrington felt it was more common sense than anything else, but said nothing. They came out of the hut, the Commodore leading the way and the captive in the rear. Norrington turned to Anna, who brushed her red hair away from her face and shielded her grayish green eyes from the sun with a hand. "Do you know where we can find Dante?"

Anna shook her head, speaking quietly. "No. I haven't seen him since we were separated upon captivity."

Norrington turned back to his men. "We'll have to keep searching," he stated as he moved forward, taking a different path than the ones the natives used to retreat. "No splitting up this time." The officers uttered an unsynchronous "yessir" and followed, their weapons still at the ready. Anna hesitated as she watched the strangers walk away. She was beginning to consider going off on her own to find her father, but thought she heard the cry of the cannibals in the distance and jumped, running after the portion of the British Royal Navy.

They had been walking over the island for awhile, but couldn't find anything. Every now and again they would see a member of the tribe, but they no longer acted out threateningly.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many bones in my life." Gillette said, his voice shaking slightly. He was sure it was his imagination, but he thought he saw several move out of the corners of his eyes, like undead pirates, and was grateful that it was daylight instead of night. "Not even in a catacomb."

"They're cannibals." Anna stated in a hoarse voice. She had her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest.

"Th- Then that means the crew..." Gillette stuttered, and before he could find the words, Norrington answered his sentence.

"Yes. That means the crew is dead."

One of the younger officers gasped. "Oh...God..."

Commodore Norrington turned around to face the young officer. "You are a member of the King's Royal Navy. I suggest you take control of yourself." He glanced over at Anna. "And if you feel incapable of doing so, remove yourself from the company of a lady." The young officer looked over at Anna, who looked a little pale herself, and turned back around, hanging his head in embarrassment.

"M-my apologies." he gulped.

Norrington sighed and walked forward a few steps. They had been trekking up the mountain, and he could see a great deal of the island from where he stood in between two trees on a grassy crag. "This is turning out to be an unfruitful event." he said, mostly to himself.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" Anna asked fearfully.

"No, I'm afraid that won't do me any good."

"Sir," Gillette walked up to the Commodore, his voice low, "we've searched the entire island. If we have found anything, it has already been reduced to bones and rags."

Norrington stared out across the island, greatly perturbed. His future depended on the success of this mission. He looked back at Anna, the only known survivor of the crew. In the sunlight, compared to the impeccably suited men, she looked dirty and disheveled. She looked about Elizabeth's age, but maybe a year younger. "May I have a word, Miss Anna?"

Anna moved forward as Norrington dismissed Gillette. "Yes?"

"Out of curiosity, how is it that you remained alive?"

Anna's eyebrows creased in confusion. "Well, I'm sure they would have told me, or may have told me, but it just so happened that I could not understand a word they said." She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. "I didn't know I was the only one still... alive." The word seemed hard to say for her, and barely came out audibly. "I was hoping that perhaps they kept us separate." She bit her lip. "I felt like a pet. I think that may be what they considered me."

"I was sent by Lord Cutler Beckett to find Dante. In light of the possibility that finding him may be impossible, maybe you can help me." Anna looked up at Norrington as he spoke. "Do you know of the island of Calypso in Salo?"

Anna's eyes widened for half of a second, and then she looked away, out over the island, and Norrington knew she had either been there or knew where it was. "Would you be able to give coordinates, or a general direction or location?"

"I could." she said after awhile and looked back at him, shaking her head insubordinately. "But I won't."

"Why?" the desperation that Norrington kept chained deep within him almost rose into his voice, and he became angry. Angry at his desperation, angry at his dependency, and angry at the lack of hope and those who insisted on remaining contumacious.

"That island holds nothing that should be desirable to any man."

Norrington looked away. Maybe there was no reason for him to be angry. He had what he needed: a way to get to the island. Lord Beckett could deal with the woman's defiance when he brought her back to Port Royale. "Then I guess we are out of luck." he said after a short pause. "Let us head back to the Legacy."


	4. Torment on the Sea

Calypso's Children

Chapter Four: Torment on the Sea

They were heading back to the ship by longboat, and the expanse of water never seemed so long as it did that evening, with the island of the cannibals pulling away oh-so slowly, threatening and dismal. Anna sat beside Commodore Norrington, staring at the island like the child who will never see their home again. Norrington said nothing, but could not help but feel regret for the young woman, who had come out of a gruesome tragedy as the only survivor. There was some degree of guilt on the conscience, he knew, for escaping death when others could not.

Anna sighed and turned her head, observing the ship that towered in the distance. It was far more optimistic than the rest of the scenery, but it failed to stir any hope or relief within her. Every day in that cage, surrounded by darkness until the cannibals came in to speak to her in their strange tongue, holding indistinguishable objects out towards her, she had pretended and prayed that the rest of the crew and her father were in the same situation, holding on to faith that one of them, if not her, would break free and rescue the rest. But now she could not hide within that hope, and there was none before her. The Commodore was sent by Lord Cutler Beckett, and so to Lord Beckett she would return, who was a distressing ordeal all by himself. The Commodore had made it clear what Lord Beckett was after, but Anna's discretion of information would not stop him from taking her back to Port Royale, and if she would not tell the Commodore, she knew very well that Lord Beckett would stop at nothing to achieve the information, for he was a man that denied himself nothing. She looked at the Commodore, who stared determinedly off into the sunset. "Take me to Kinsale. Please." she requested.

Commodore Norrington jumped slightly, as if surprised she had spoken. The silence had been so heavy before that her voice, even as quiet and soft as the request had been, cut through like a lighthouse beam in a fog. He looked down at her. "I'm afraid we lack enough rations to get us that far." Norrington had feared that she would ask to be taken somewhere, possibly the residence of a relative, and had made an excuse early on, so that it would be able to roll off of his tongue with confidence.

"The next safe harbor, then." she pressed.

Norrington did his best to look accusatory as he turned on the small bench towards her. "Is there a particular reason you resist making berth in Port Royale? You wouldn't, I hope, be in bad reputation with the law?"

"Most certainly not!" she said, straightening her back indignantly.

Norrington straightened in his seat. "Then you wouldn't oppose a few nights in Port Royale before you are taken to any region of your choosing."

Anna's jaw clenched with agitation. She knew her request would not go over favorably, but on all accounts it never hurt to try. She could not help getting one last barb in, however, "I suppose you are a man of your word, Commodore. One would hope that people given the power to help others would not exploit that power for their own gains. Of course I doubt you are anything like that Lord Beckett." she said, smiling with a venomous sweetness at Norrington.

Norrington could see the smile from the corner of his eye, and refused to acknowledge her, besides saying, "So you have previously been acquainted with Lord Beckett, have you?"

"Yes, he employed my father, Dante Bower." They were almost upon the Legacy, and Anna turned to watch it progressively advance. Norrington had suspected as much about her relationship with Dante. It explained not only her knowledge about Calypso in Salo, but also the reason why they would have a woman as passenger. Generally sailors were superstitious, and would never take females on board unless commanded to do so by a higher authority.

Aboard the Legacy, Norrington turned to lieutenant Gillette. "She's under your charge." he ordered, loud enough that Anna, standing a bit of a ways away with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked around, heard it as well. They both turned to Norrington upon hearing the statement.

"What?"

"What? Why on earth do I have to have a _charge_?"

"Safety purposes." he said and turned, making his way down into the hold. Anna followed, and Gillette chased after her. Norrington did not notice his entourage until he was in his office. "May I help you?"

"You haven't yet told me where I am to stay."

"Oh, yes. Gillette, see to her accommodations."

"This way, Miss Bower." Gillette said as he motioned her out of the office. As the door closed Norrington could hear a faint "That was so _lazy_." from Anna, and could not help but chuckle slightly, while at the same time feeling slightly irked at the impudence of her comment. The chuckle escaped his lips only because he agreed slightly, but his mind was distracted enough without worrying about who was staying where.

Norrington settled into the chair behind his desk, which was only half as grand as the one that decorated Lord Beckett's office in Port Royale. He slid open the drawer and pulled out a bottle of rum from the velvet lined compartment. Some things hadn't changed just yet.

&

When Anna first saw Commodore Norrington burst through the door of the little hovel she was imprisoned in, she felt her heart vault into the heavens. She was not directly aware of the things that came out of her mouth until she was outside, and even then she was not able to take her eyes off of him. She shook her head, feeling foolish, while trying to scatter the memories, though the attempt was in vain. She had simply gone mad on that island, to be so infatuated so quickly and easily. Now she was angry, not only because when she first saw his face it felt like her heart was singing, but because it still was. There was an undeniable desire there, beneath the surface, and she did not want to acknowledge it because, as far as she was concerned, the Commodore was against her best interests at hand. No doubt those feelings would drain now that she was among civilization, she assured herself, but however assuring it was, it was still slightly depressing, not being able to have the things one wants.

"Here we are, Miss Bower."

"What?" Anna blinked and looked at Gillette. They were in a room, a standard ship cabin, with a few more than standard decorations. "Oh. Yes. Thank you." Anna began to go farther into the room but stopped. Somebody's belongings were already scattered neatly over the room.

"This was previously my quarters, but it's yours now. There are some uniforms in the armoire over there. You may change, and then I'll return to move my belongings." Gillette explained, backing out of the cabin, his hand ready on the knob of the door.

"Why don't I just stay in an empty room? I think that would be a bit simpler..."

"Oh, no. All of the other quarters are much smaller."

Anna blinked, not quite grasping the disadvantage that the other rooms had to this one. "Well that's no problem at all–." But the door closed without a preference to her opinion. Anna shrugged and peeled her ripe dress off of her dingy skin, making her way over to the basin to wash away as much of the grime as possible. When she gave up trying to feel satisfied with the outcome, she opened the window and poured the disgusting mud-water out, letting it mingle with the sea, and put on an old officer uniform. It didn't seem like something a lieutenant should keep, but perhaps he kept it as a keepsake. She looked down at the gawky garb, baggy in the places where she lacked male anatomy and tight where she exceeded it, but not overly uncomfortable.

Anna walked over to the door and opened it for Lieutenant Gillette, who waited patiently, back turned to the door with his hands clasped behind his back. He turned to look at her and gave her a smile that looked neither happy nor sad. "You know, that's the second time I've had a woman wear that uniform." He said as he walked over to a chest at the foot of the bed.

"Oh?" Anna inquired politely.

"Yes, you've heard of the pirates of the Black Pearl?"

"Yes. That must have been a nightmare."

"Indeed. Well, Miss Swann, the governor's daughter, we rescued her from a tiny island out in the Caribbean, in nothing but her night gown, so I lent her my old officer uniform." He explained as he removed clothes out of the armoire by the armload and laid them gently inside the chest.

"I see."

"She and the Commodore were planning to marry, and probably would have too, if it weren't for that pirate, William Turner, who beat him to the rescue."

"But... I thought you just said you rescued her from the island."

"Oh, we did that time, but Mr. Turner rescued her from the cursed pirates."

"... How many times was she rescued?" she paused. "Did you say Miss Swann and Mr. Norrington were to be married?"

"Yes, he's been heartbroken about her engagement to Mr. Turner. I think he was in love with her."

"Oh..." Anna sighed, a little surprised to feel so dejected. "I hope the Commodore doesn't mind you indulging all of this information to me." She said, hoping the change in topic would help a change in mood. She fingered an intricately carved chandelier that was nailed to the wall.

"Most of the Spanish Main knows about it already. The fight made us all but famous, really. Commodore Norrington was so embarrassed, and was so fierce about restoring honor to himself... I imagine that was the reason he sailed through the hurricane..."

"What?" Anna exclaimed, and with a snap the arm of the chandelier broke off. Anna cursed, something she had learned from years of acquaintance with sailors, and quickly covered her mouth in embarrassment.

"... and completely disappeared for months." Gillette continued, clearly trying to pretend he had not seen, or heard, what just happened. "He lost his title, his honor, and became part of Jack Sparrow's crew."

"Jack Sparrow? Him I've heard of." Anna was also pretending nothing had happened, looking around for a place to hide the broken brass arm.

"A complete loon, and a total idiot." Gillette stated, clicking the chest closed. "Mad with the heat, or rum, or something. Anyways, that's how he got here. Recovered Davy Jones's heart and delivered it to Lord Beckett, who restored his title. He told me the entire story on our way to the island where we found you. Quite an adventure."

Anna stuck the chandelier arm in the drawer of a small stationery desk to the left of the door to the room. "Fate is a funny thing."

Gillette left at last, trailing the last of his luggage, and Anna had nothing left to do but to sit on the edge of the bed and stare out of the window. It was then, for some reason, that reality hit. It was not that she had been living in a fantasy life until that moment, but the weight of what happened finally struck, breaking through the reigning numbness with a force that swelled like a tempest inside of her. Her family was dead. The entire crew, people she had grown to care about, were gone forever. She had been on that island for so long, dreading the worst while hoping for the best, but it was that night that she finally mourned her loss.

&

At what point was it acceptable for a person to give in to the fact that they would never be ultimately successful in their endeavors? James Norrington swirled the rum in one of Beckett's crystal tasters as he reflected on his past. It was difficult coming to terms with the events that had happened, as surreal as they were, but harder still was the realization that everything he had hoped to accomplish backfired. Had he tried too hard, and, in doing so, lost everything? It was impossible for him to see how he had deserved the losses, after fighting so hard for the proverbial side of good, while those that blatantly defied the law and took what they would for themselves ended up with the very thing they had wanted most. Simply taking what one desired certainly did work, Norrington had discovered, but he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Such deviousness would have a consequence, or it should, at least. Norrington swallowed nearly half of the rum in the glass, hoping, slightly, that there would be repercussions to his actions, so that at least one bad thing in his life would be justified.

&

&

Author's Note: The paragraph rulers aren't working for some reason. This chapter took way too long, I know, and I'm not at all happy with it. Yet I couldn't abandon it any longer. I've been working on it little by little this entire month, in the space of time that I couldn't sleep and wasn't working. Transitions are always the hardest, in life and in stories, and it is harder still when you have to deal with several in both reality and fantasy. But I think the frame has finally been set in place, so I can continue with ease. Somewhat.


	5. Escaping the Past

Calypso's Children

Chapter Five: Escaping the Past

There was something eery about drifting slowly on the ocean's emptiness. There was no sound but the waves splashing onto the sides of the Legacy and the conversational voices of the sailors, and nothing to see but miles and miles of blue in every direction. There was something so lonely about it, yet so extremely peaceful. But as peaceful as it was in times like these the sea always kept its seafarers guessing, tilting into a tempest at the blink of an eye. But today was not one of those days. No, today was a bubble of every shade of blue. The sailors and officers of the King's navy lazed around, having all day to do one petty chore or another, and in times like these company was relished, when one was not sleeping.

Anna had apparently found Lord Beckett's library and raided it, and was sitting on a barrel under Lieutenant Gillette's dutiful eye reading, her eyes drifting over the page intently. There were two other tombs under her feet waiting to be explored, for she had no other responsibility on the ship but to be a passenger. Next to her Gillette sighed, shifting his weight restlessly. Anna looked up at him when she heard his exhale, and gave him a slightly sympathetic smile.

Up at the hull the captain of the Legacy tried adamantly to look interested in their course, though the hands that rested on the wheel moved only slightly, pushing it side to side without a thought. As the Commodore walked across the deck he passed two men at a small chess table, one leaning back and crossing his arms after moving his knight, a small arrogant smirk scarring his good looks, while the other scratched the stubble of hair on his chin thoughtfully.

"Aye, that lass is a beaut'." A sailor agreed in an undertone to his mate as they leaned against the railing of the ship, glancing back every now and again at Anna. "Though not much compared to Lady Swann," he chuckled, "not that any lass could ever make a comparison to her." Norrington felt a twang in his heart as the name almost mercilessly taunted him. He looked over at Anna and saw her eyebrow twitch, as if she heard the comment and didn't think much of the men's opinions. Still she kept her eyes determinedly glued to the book, flipping a page a little testily.

"Commodore!" Norrington looked up at the Captain's proud figure. He made his way up to him, who nodded off into the distance ahead of him. "What do ye think about that o'er yonder?"

Norrington shielded his eyes and stared at the horizon, detecting the dark clouds hovering a great distance away. "It doesn't look like a problem." He admitted. "I've gone through worse."

"Aye." The Captain agreed with a chuckle. "But we're headed straight into it. If we furl the sails and drift for a bit, we may miss it all together."

"No need to suffer cabin fever, I have a feeling we're already on the verge of it. Keep going."

"Yessir."

There was nothing questionable about the clouds in the distance; an experienced Captain such as the one of the HMS Legacy should have been able to easily gage its threat, yet he looked to the Commodore to make his decision. The humility of the hurricane would take much time to wear off, Norrington knew, but he never expected others to think that his strength had been sapped by fear from a little rain.

* * *

Meanwhile Anna grew bored of Lord Beckett's insufferable taste in books. She sighed and looked up, letting the hard cover of the book thump against her knees as she relaxed her wrists from holding the book up. The little hairs on the back of Anna's neck had been standing on end ever since Gillette had taken his post, but his eyes were like two lifeless lumps of coal. He took his job far too seriously.

"If you don't mind," Anna began, never once looking at her guardian, "I'm going to stretch my legs. Alone. I won't leave your sight." She assured him. Not waiting for approval, she got up and walked towards the Commodore, who was staring forlornly at the dark patch of clouds that marred the horizon.

James Norrington either did not hear her approach or was simply ignoring her, so Anna nearly discreetly cleared her throat. The Commodore blinked himself out of his small daze and turned to her, giving her a polite smile. His eyes darted above her head, no doubt to find Gillette's lone figure standing watch over nothing but a few abandoned books.

"A shilling for your daydreams." Anna grinned, turning his attention back to her, before it was cast again back to the restless waves, his eyes roaming the edge of the horizon. "I was merely considering... my next course of action."

"How very organized." Anna replied playfully. Norrington graced her with a close-lipped smile but said nothing. Anna pouted slightly to herself. "You're very hard to amuse." she stated. She pursed her lips and sighed. "So where was Davy Jones' heart? Were you the man who found it?"

Norrington suddenly looked as if he had been struck from behind. Anna finally had his full attention. He turned slowly to her, eyes almost accusing. "What do you know of that?"

"You wouldn't be interested in Calypso in Salo without the possession of Davie Jones' heart. If I knew anything about the island, don't you think I would know anything about the Cursed Immortal?"

The Commodore could not find the words to either express or disguise his astonishment. He seemed to choke, staring at her as if she had undergone a hideous transformation right before his eyes.

She seemed to beseech him as she said, "If you intend me to guide anyone there, you are sadly deluded. You send me to my death."

The air came back to Norrington in a rush and he was suddenly sorry he let himself be bested by ill-placed information. He gave Anna a stern, commanding look. "If there is anything I've learned in my travels, Ms. Bower," the Commodore retorted, "it is that women are prone to over-exaggeration, and I will not be taken in by such wiles."

There was murder in the young captives eyes as his words sunk in. She let the rage consume her to hide the hurt that struck with the Commodore's blatant mistrust. Commodore Norrington called Lieutenant Gillette to his side, but Anna never took her eyes off of him. "Gillette, you will accompany this young woman back to her quarters, where she will stay _silently_ for the remainder of the day." He ordered.

"Right away, Commodore." Gillette replied, placing his hand on Anna's right upper arm, which she quickly tore out of his grasp.

"How dare you!" she exploded, using the arm that had just escaped to prod a finger into the Commodore's finely embroidered jacket. "You have no right to do this to _anyone_."

Norrington grabbed Anna's wrist, his grip tight but his gaze calm. Anna winced at the strength with which he was squeezing her. "Listen here." He said in a low, grave tone. "You might be able to get away with acting like a spoiled terror on your father's ship, but now you are under _my_ charge, and you will do _exactly_ as I say. Do not ever undermine my authority again, do you understand me?" He let go of her wrist and it fell limply at her side. She stared at him for awhile, her bottom lip tucked in fiercely, before replying in a soft, strong tone.

"No. I don't understand you." She turned and strode off, chin jutted out proudly as she returned to her quarters. Gillette's eyes darted back and forth between her and Norrington before he gave the Commodore an embarrassed salute and trailed after Anna. Norrington grimaced as he watched the two retreat. He was beginning to have his fill of headstrong women.

* * *

Anna fingered the miniature conch shell that was tied to a cord around her neck as she stared at the ceiling of the cabin from her adopted bed. What price would she have to pay for remaining silent? She held nothing of value except her own life, and even that was becoming less and less desirable with each misfortune that found her. Her father indulged too much information to Lord Beckett before he realized just what exactly it was he had found, but by then it was too late. But as good fortune found it, Lord Beckett only knew what Dante presumed in his logs about the island. Any ancient text they might have found was not only corroded beyond thorough legibility, but written in a foreign tongue that defied translation. Her father relied native paintings and diagrams to give his opinions about what the culture was like. So infatuated with this mystery was he that he went from island to island searching for anyone who was familiar with Calypso in Salo's history or was descended from their. He finally found an answer to every question from a psychic shaman woman named Tia Dalma. Not only did she inform him of the terrible past and the curse set upon it (which they were "favored by fortune to have escaped"), but she also gave him the means to find it again.

"It cannot be found by de same means twice." She had explained to her father as she placed an object in his hand, her grin black and unnerving, giving Anna the feeling that they were receiving knowledge best left forgotten. "Dis will guide you back to where eet wants to go. From Calypso in Salo eet came, to Calypso in Salo eet longs to return."

"Father..." she whispered, uneasy with his enthusiasm about the island. "There's really no reason we should want to go back." He had simply stared down at his fist, fingers curled tightly around the taboo object.

"Better this knowledge be in our care then anyone else. I think we happened on that island for a reason. I will tell Lord Beckett that the island wiped its inhabitants out with a plague. No one will ever touch that spit of land ever again." He turned to her and held her hand in his, turning it palm up and placing the object that Tia Dalma gave him in her hand. He covered her hand with both of his own and looked into her eyes. "Fate's an interesting thing, love. We've real purpose in our lives now." He had whispered. "Guardians of the secret of Calypso in Salo." He reached one hand up and touched her cheek. "What an important role you play for us all, now. Promise me you'll keep this safe."

"Aye. I promise." She had replied with an almost defeated tone. She looked over her father's shoulder to see Tia Dalma show that haunting smile of hers.

"Your father is a wise mon. De secret is well kept wit you."

"Aye." Anna muttered at the memory. "It's kept." Lord Beckett of course believed the report about the island natives being wiped out in an epidemic disease, until, however, he found heard a legend about Davy Jones. The reports about the island provided evidence that the ancient lore was indeed true, so he set his sights on the heart of Davy Jones.


	6. Places No One Will Find

Author's Note: Yay! FINALLY decided to upload my document. Thank you. But I can see why; this chapter kind of sucks. That's okay, though, because there are going to be plenty of swashbucklers in the next chapter to make up for it.

Calypso's Children

Chapter Six: Places No One Will Find

There were only two people aboard the HMS Legacy that were not bustling about or fulfilling nonessential tasks, both of which were in their respective cabins, staring at the gorgeous sun sinking below the tides and sending a neon orange hue shooting through the pink and blue clouds that could not seem to hide or diminish its beauty, and both of which were meditating their future.

First and foremost, the 'grand' Commodore was feeling about as worthy as a cockroach foraging for food in a galley, and at the same time almost fearing his would-be ascent in society. Raised by the law, he had always been bound by it, the outcome of which produced a very rigid morale that only knew what was right because he had been told it was right. What shattered in the aftermath of the hurricane was not only his ship, his career, and his reputation, but also his assurances of freedom and what freedom actually was. To the pre- Sparrow afflicted Commodore James Norrington, freedom was status in society. A free man was a law abiding citizen who's arms were unadorned with shackles and his neck unadorned by a noose. But the regular James Norrington, the man who drank away his problems and took his anger out on strangers by the edge of a sword got a taste of something else. He found freedom in answering to no one; in setting about a task or goal simply because he wanted to do it, not because he was expected to do it or told to do it. Perhaps that was what moved him to join Captain Sparrow's crew of miscreants aboard the _Pearl_. Something about that ship radiated freedom, and he was drawn like a fly into a spider's web. There was so much beneath his skin, and that scared him. He was an actual person, with weaknesses and limits, and even little quirks, and he had not actually come to terms with that until Sparrow.

Could he go back to being a servant of the law, with his every move under the jurisdiction of a higher authority now that he knew that he had the power to command his own fate? Where was the affliction? Was it in the masochistic need to have a place in the world, even as a pawn, or was it the drug-like addiction of having no one to answer to but oneself?

He worried about how the world would accept him, and how he would accept the world, but he also worried about his captive. He considered Anna now his captive because after the events that took place the day before he could consider her nothing else. She saw herself a captive, so that was what she had become. She had retired herself to her quarters as ordered, but shut herself in far longer than he had required of her. More than likely she was simply pouting, and she would get bored of her petulance before long and emerge before the week was past.

But one fact could not be brushed aside or painted over with justification to seem more acceptable: she was being taken against her will to an undesirable destination for the crime of being thrown into a devastating series of events, and the Commodore would do nothing about it but internally condemn himself to an imprisoning guilt for it. Was she telling the truth when she had claimed that she was being sent to her death, or was it just an over-exaggerated figure of speech? There was a part of him that seemed to act selfishly, but was almost a paradox; his duty was to serve and to protect, yet to obey and fulfill his duty he had seemed to inadvertently kidnaped someone. But wasn't that usually the case? To serve and protect one country, sometimes a war must be waged with another country. There were casualties to innocents on both sides in both scenarios, so why did this seem so different?

* * *

The latter, previously mentioned, Anna Bower had indeed locked herself in her temporary cabin out of spite, but was feeling rather sick in her stomach and could not have found the energy to be annoying if she wanted to. She was aware that the illness was entirely psychological, because twenty years was a little late to be developing sea sickness by someone raised on ship. Anna had become so numb in the preceding days that she was not thinking about much of anything other than that she really ought to regain some composure and be the one to save herself, if no one else would, and that suicide would be the Utilitarian choice in the current situation. Of course, that would mean dying, which Anna had been, for some time now, trying to avoid. 

She had clearly been defeated all the way around by fate, which really only made her want to rebel against it all the more.

As she stared at her hazy and pale reflection from her close proximity curled on the window seat, she lazily brought her hand up from where it had been draped around her knees and tapped the glass of the window. The waves only just lapped at the bottom of the ledge, and if she managed to find something in her room that would both float and hold her weight, along with something heavy enough to break the window, she would have a good chance at escaping. Granted, she would probably live longer if she just stayed on the ship, and maybe she was just getting impatient, but the idea _almost_ seemed worth the effort.

She turned away from the setting sun and stood, a little frightened of the heinous and idiotic plans she seemed capable of thinking up and taking seriously. She walked to a bookshelf that was covered in porcelain figurines and decorative tomes. Cutler Beckett's tastes always seemed to bypass necessary and fall right into spoiled, Anna considered as she made a face at the blue and white statue of a horse and attempted to pick it up. The stallion did not budge, but stood forever frozen at attention, one hoof curled underneath him. Anna tried to wriggle it some more, but it seemed bolted to the wooden shelf, which made perfect sense once considered. Anna was so used to the tilting waves that she almost forgot that gravity liked to pull at pretty, breakable objects. Wondering if the books had been bolted to the shelves as well, Anna saw a thick red tome that seemed to grab attention and reached for it. The tome, titled _Fires of War_, was in fact attached to something at the back of the shelf, but not bolted down. It fell forward half way, and something clicked dully.

"Huh." Anna mused. She looked down, searching for something else to mess with, and found that one of the panels that bordered the wall underneath the bookshelves had disappeared. Anna's eyes lit up and the corners of her mouth flickered upwards as she realized what had just happened. "Oh..." she murmured mischievously. Wasting no time, she dropped to her knees to explore the opening.

As the sky darkened to an ashy shadow like a room lit by a worn out candle, James Norrington readied himself for another fitful night of rest (if one could call what he managed to make of the night as rest), as he unbuttoned his heavy uniform. His wig was the first garment to be shed, and lay slightly askew on a mannequin head on his desk, while his belt and holsters hung off of the back of the chair that faced the faceless wooden head. There was a thump from what seemed to be the other side of the wall behind his bed and Norrington jumped, his hands hovering above the buttons on his breeches as he stared at the wall, almost waiting for the noise to either repeat or explain itself. It would do both, but first another thump came, sounding closer, following by a light rapping, akin to someone knocking for admittance on a door.

Norrington reached behind him and pulled his sword from its sheath, having to step back in the process, but his eyes never left the source of the noise. Common sense told him that it must be either a rat stuck in between the walls, or a very noisy neighbor. Neither seemed small enough or likely enough, and he was only halfway aware that he ought to feel silly about wielding a weapon on his own ship when everything had been quiet save for a small bump in the night. Everything seemed to still for awhile, and the Commodore started to think that he had finally become a paranoid skitzophrenic, but just as he was about to turn away to return his sword to its sheath the door to his tiny closet, which sat to the right of his bed, opened up, dispensing a very dusty and slightly confused red head.

Norrington's grip tightened rather than loosened at the sight of his impromptu visitor. "Ms. Bower, what–." He could not seem to stutter out the correct question that he wanted to ask her, whether it be what, where, who, or how, so he stumbled over each, his brows furrowed in consternation. Anna, in turn, still had her hand on the doorknob, looking as if she were ready at any moment to make a run for it, but at the sight of her destination and the state that he was in, she found it very hard to move, or do anything but stand there and blush.

Norrington exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he did so. When he had opened his eyes again, nothing had changed, except that Anna had the hand that was not anchored to the doorknob delicately covering her lips, which were parted in shock. Her eyes had widened into orbs that almost took up the entirety of her face, and her cheeks were only a shade or two lighter than her hair color. He turned and sheathed his sword, and the movement seemed to help Anna snap out of her daze. The hand that was covering her mouth suddenly fluttered up to squeeze her temples, as if she were shielding her eyes.

"Oh, God." She whispered shakily. Not only was she beyond embarrassment, but she was afraid that her actions might look intentional and make the tension that already existed between the two thicker still. She whirled around and began to retreat back into the closet, muttering an apology.

Norrington turned back to her and lunged forward, grabbing her forearm and yanking her back in the room, his lips pressed into a tight, thin, annoyed line. "How long have been in there?" he demanded of her, unconsciously shaking her a little.

Anna took a deep breath in attempt to calm her frazzled nerves, clearing her throat as she left her arm hanging limply from his fingers. "I wasn't hiding out. I swear; there is a passage in between the walls. I opened the panel by chance, and wasn't aware of where it led to." She explained as she pointed at the opening in his closet. "I swear." She repeated, looking back up at him. He looked down at her as if he wasn't quite sure whether to believe her or not, and she grinned sheepishly at him. "This ship is too big for it's own good."

Norrington felt the right side of his lips twitch into a suppressed smirk in amusement at her silly, embarrassed smile, and let her go. His eyes never lost that dark, serious glare, however, and he brushed past her to lean into the closet and observe the secret passage. He crouched down and cocked his head to the side as he peered through the portal.

"I wonder if my room belongs to Mercer." Anna mused as she hoisted herself onto the surface of the desk, moving pens and papers from under her absently. She grinned coyly. "Ooh, that would explain so much."

Norrington looked back at her. "Excuse me?" When he saw her sitting on the desk, his frown deepened, and he pushed himself up into a standing position. "Get off of there." he snapped as he made his way back into the room. Anna's eyes widened and she hopped off, frowning. Norrington stalked back to the desk, restocking the papers that Anna had disturbed. The young woman peered over his shoulder.

"What were you working on?" she queried innocently. She didn't look a bit ashamed or guilty for invading his personal documents, which actually made the Commodore feel peculiarly more accepted and welcomed than it did angered. It was almost a warm feeling to have someone interested in his private person rather than his orders, sincere or not. However, more than likely, the young woman was looking for some type of leverage to suit her own gains.

"Nothing that would interest a young girl." Norrington growled softly as he tucked the stack of papers away in a drawer. He looked up and was about to ask Anna why she was still in his room when she cocked her head to the side with a reply for his statement.

"Well, seeing as how there are no _young girls_ on this ship, you should not feel apprehensive about indulging a bit of harmless information." She drawled with a sweetly seductive smile. It was true that she was looking for leverage, but it was not quite the type that the Commodore had assumed. She didn't want to use anybody or put anyone in an awkward or undesirable position unless she absolutely had to, in which case it would be a survivalist's imperative, even if she was not aware of it. Anna knew the wounds in the Commodore's heart were still fresh– that was easy– but she also hoped it was harder to kill (or imprison) someone that one was emotionally attached to. And while Anna was hardly what she would perceive as experienced in the art of enticement, she figured a certain degree of it ought to be biological.

James Norrington was amazed at how well spoken the girl was. Perhaps he had spent just a little too much time around pirates, but putting a book in the hands of a woman always seemed to become a little dangerous. He snapped the drawer closed, his serious eyes carefully emotionless. "I see; well, grown woman that you are, no doubt you are then more accustomed to _fraternizing_ with inebriated scoundrels." An image of Jack Sparrow's lips hovering hungrily over Elizabeth's taunting ones formed in Norrington's mind as he said this.

Anna felt like she had been shot. She was literally breathless, and could almost feel her heart bleeding. Seduction was clearly poison to this man, whose wounds ran far deeper than she could have imagined. From now on she would have to steer away from anything coquettish. Instead, she let her own personality shine through. "How _dare_ you!" she snarled, pushing away from the desk, feet firmly planted shoulder-length apart as she squared off with him.

"You seem to keep forgetting your place." He observed, still cooly in control. "Don't make the mistake of challenging me in our current positions."

"To hell with your position! I don't care who you are– what makes you think you have a right to say things like that to a person?" The hurt overpowered the anger, and he could see it in her eyes as they shined up at him. While her feelings were admittedly hurt, Anna deliberated about actually crying. She shouldn't over-do it and chance the Commodore accusing her of forcing herself to cry and using her own tears as a weapon, but perhaps a single tear would help him to see that she was no shallow harlot. She closed her eyes as if she were trying to keep herself from crying, a crease forming between her brows. A tear was pushed from the lip of her eyelid and coursed down her cheek. As it came annoyingly close to her lips, she raised a hand to wipe it away, but another's beat her to it.

_'You bastard' _Norrington thought as guilt slapped him in the face. _'No wonder why Elizabeth chose that blacksmith.'_ As if it were offered in apology, he reached up and rubbed away the accusing tear from Anna's pale skin with his thumb. She started and opened her eyes, looking at him like she were asking a question, but he did not know what it was, and he certainly did not know how to answer it. "I may have been out of line," he offered, his hand lowering to rest on her arm right below her shoulder. Anna did not look entirely satisfied with his answer. In fact, she looked at him as if he were speaking to her in a foreign tongue.

Was _may have been_ the Commodore's idea of an apology? Anna bit back a scathing remark, determined not to ruin a perfectly comfortable moment with another argument. She licked her lips and tried to think of something to say that might help her forgive him, and might help him forgive the person he thought she was. Nothing came. His hand was so warm on her arm, and she had a sudden urge to see if the rest of him was just as warm. There were so many thoughts without words– at least, none of which might be appropriate. It seemed that for the Commodore hardly anything but politics was appropriate, which was, in Anna's opinion, gravely unfortunate.

Norrington kept his hand lightly encircling Anna's upper arm. She looked as if she were about to say something to him, but was struggling for words. He again remembered his uniform hanging open and the late hour, but wasn't sure how to urge the young woman back to her own room without seeming like more of a brute than he already was. "Would you... like a glass of water?" She smiled then, and that eased him somewhat.

"Actually," she jested, "I could use some brandy." Norrington did have a bottle of the drink in his desk, but he would be remiss to offer that to her. She sniffed. "I'm sorry something happened to make you feel such a way towards women." she looked up into his intense hazel eyes, but then let her gaze fall to the window behind him. "Although you might seem cold at times, you are far too good a man to be used in such a manner." She pulled away, meaning to retreat back to the confines of her own quarters, but his hand squeezed her arm. Although it had been almost involuntary, it made Anna stop and look up at the Commodore. His jaw was clenched, and there were several emotions and thoughts shifting in his eyes, and there was a thoughtful line in between his brows. She did not know whether he was angry or... something else. Finally he let her go, saying nothing as he swallowed his emotions. Anna felt a twinge of disappointment, and left the room, exiting through the passage.

* * *

Anna scrambled out of the no longer secret passageway and snapped to a standing position, fumbling with the book that seemed to dangle in thin air to close the panel. When she heard the sigh of wood sliding across wood and the resolute thunk of the panel shutting the portal from sight, she leaned with her back against the bookcase and let out a long, heavy breath. She brought her hands up and covered her face with them in embarrassment, even though there was no one in the room to hide from but herself. 

"Oh, stupid." she groaned into her hands. The situation was already hard to deal with as it was, but somehow she had been compelled to make life a little harder to deal with. She stomped her foot in frustration. She could only imagine and fear how awkward things would become in the next few days simply because she could not consider consequences before opening her mouth.

There was a knock on her door, so Anna pulled her face out of her palms and pushed off of the bookshelf to answer the visitor. Her eyes widened a fraction of a second before her eyebrows furrowed deeply in confusion when she saw Norrington. He had taken his Navy jacket off, but had buttoned the white shirt that he wore underneath.

"U-um..." Anna cocked her head to the left and bit her tongue. Norrington looked a little uncertain about his approach as well, and cleared his throat, his chin jutting upwards as if he were asking permission to come in. Anna, lost for words for the third time that night, made the pout that she was so good at and backed away from the door, giving Norrington enough room to slip in. He took the liberty of closing the door behind him.

"Um," Anna repeated, "good evening... Commodore..." She forced a smile to be polite, and once she did it became genuine. She really was happy to see him, after all.

"I want you to tell me what you know about Calypso in Salo." Norrington demanded as he advanced into the room. "And I don't want to know because it is a subject of interest for Lord Beckett." He stated as he looked determinedly at Anna's frightened features. "I want you to tell me because I want to know that I am not sending someone to their death for another's selfish gains." He didn't know how he would be able to denounce a complete fabrication if there was one, but there was something so unsettlingly honest about her eyes, and he had been lying to himself about it from the moment he saw her. Despite that, it was the greed that he saw in Lord Beckett that made him decide that perhaps this journey was tainted.

Anna swallowed, staring unblinkingly into the Commodore's tortured eyes. "And if you are?" she asked softly.

"That's an _order_." He growled almost just as softly, avoiding her question. He would deal with that circumstance in time if he felt that it was an honest account.

Anna walked over to her bed and sat down on the edge, leaning forward slightly with her palms braced on the mattress. "What I can tell you is just skepticism and fairy-tale passed down from the words of those who claim to know." she muttered as she stared at the floorboards between her feet. "That it is cursed, not unlike the undead pirates you know so well, but at the same time it is altogether a different type of curse."

Norrington walked closer to her, until he stood over her bowed head, looking down at the tangled mess of her hair. She looked up at him when his boots obstructed her view of the floor, only to move her head away to the side. Then, with a burst of courage, she looked him in the eye again, and this time held the gaze. It was just what he needed to know that she was telling the truth.

"I don't know what black magic is. I've ne'er experienced it, but I had a taste of something evil that clung to the very air on that island. I didn't need to see the ritual painted out in front of me to know that every grain of sand on that island ought to by the grace of God sink to the bottom of the ocean."

"What type of ritual?" Norrington prompted, but a knock on the door interrupted them. Norrington looked up at the door, wondering who, besides him, would be requesting an audience from Anna at this time of night, and then looked back down at her in question. She looked relieved as she stood to answer the call. Norrington stayed where he was as Anna opened the door only enough so that she could see out, hiding him from view.

"Sorry to disturb you ma'am, but you wouldn't happen to know the Commodore's whereabouts? We've already searched–." Norrington heard the familiar voice of lieutenant Gillette and strode forward, reaching out and swinging the door out of Anna's grasp and completely open. "Ah." Gillette exclaimed happily, but his expression quickly changed to a worried confusion when he realized what just happened. "Um... why...?"

"What's going on?" Norrington demanded.

"The captain wants permission to turnabout." Gillette explained quickly. "We're headed straight into a squall."

Once it was brought to their attention, Norrington and Anna were able to feel the shift in the water's rhythm beneath them. A loud crack of lightening proved the lieutenant's point, and Norrington suddenly had a sinking feeling in his chest that he was afraid might turn into an anxiety attack if he could not manage to get out of the storm soon.

"It really doesn't look that bad." Anna stated. She had walked over to the window and was leaning in close to look at the sky. "My father's sailed through worse."

Norrington looked back at her and grimaced. "As have I. Believe me, that's entirely beside the point." Wasting no more time, he pushed past Gillette and took the stairs up to the deck two at a time. Gillette watched him leave and then looked back at Anna, who crossed her arms and shrugged at him, walking over to her bed and flopping down on it.

"So..." Gillette straightened his posture arrogantly and smiled. "What was–."

"I think the Commodore needs you on deck." Anna glared at him in warning. Gillette scowled, irate that she had interrupted him, and more irate still that she was probably right. He sneered at her and slammed the door before following his Commodore on deck.


	7. Running to Stand Still

Authors Note: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. I was really doubting myself on it, and was actually thinking about replacing it, but as long as someone else liked it, it's gold.

* * *

Calypso's Children

Chapter Seven: Running To Stand Still

Commodore James Norrington stepped into the driving rain, narrowly avoiding a pair of sailors as they scurried to secure the hatches. Men were screaming orders at each other above the thunder that growled like an angry deity amidst the ashen clouds as they slid around the rain soaked deck. Lightning lit up the sky in stages, giving the dark gray clouds a burst of golden touch. Norrington wasted no time grabbing a rope that had slipped out of one of the sailors fists, yanking it down and tying it in a knot to the mast. The combination of lightning and thunder crashes made the skin along his arms prickle, but he did his best to disregard the feeling as he stumbled up the stairs where the captain strained to hold the ship steady on the cataclysmic waves.

Suddenly there was a bright flash of red and orange in the distance, followed by a distant popping sound and a loud crunch as something heavy connected with the bulwark, causing the ship to rock against a looming wave. Water poured over the side of the ship, smacking down onto the deck and its occupants.

"Bloody hell!" The captain exclaimed, leaning against the helm for balance.

"Pirates!" Norrington heard one of the water logged sailors shout as canon fire from the opposing ship lit the waves briefly again.

"What the hell are they doing, attacking at a time like this?" Norrington shouted, his anxiety forgotten for his irritability.

"Bloody pirates!" The captain growled in response. "I can't keep a heading if they keep knocking us about. Aye, caught betwixt Scylla and Charybdis we are." He scoffed sarcastically. "Now all we need is that damned Kraken."

Norrington turned to him with a serious frown. "_Please_ do _not_ test our luck." He turned to address the crew. "Return fire!" _And pray that we have enough dry gunpowder._

The antagonizing pirate ship was being pulled closer to the _H.M.S. Legacy _by the waves, and soon they were close enough that he could see their Jolly Roger snapping menacingly in the violent wind. Each ship managed to get a few shots in at each other before the pirate ship's stern swung on a wave and collided with the _Legacy_'s stern. The Commodore was thrown against the taffrail, which momentarily knocked the wind out of him. At the same time the captain lost his grip on the helm, which spun excitedly toward the other ship. Norrington gritted his teeth as the two ships grinded against each other, the wood screaming and splintering with the strain of the collision. He pulled himself up, grabbing the hilt of his sword when he saw several pirates leap over the rails that were now resting against each other.

He pulled his sword out of his sheath and stomped down the companionway, swiftly thrusting it into the abdomen of a stumpy bald pirate with a large, curvy tattoo on his tanned scalp. He yanked the sword out of the body, and the pirate grabbed his wounded stomach, falling to his knees, his jaw slack with a morbid wonder. Another pirate, this one tall and burly with a thick hoop in his nostril and long, nappy black hair, saw his comrade fall at the Commodore's feet and charged at him, his dented cutlass held high. He yelled out as he brought his weapon down toward Norrington's skull, and Norrington quickly blocked the onslaught, his biceps shuddering underneath the larger man's weight. He brought his right leg up and planted a heel hard into the pirate's groin. The pirate's eyebrows curved in pain, and he made a high pitched groan as his knees buckled and his arms fell away.

Several rain soaked, wind lashed, and wave tossed minutes passed by as the crew of the _H.M.S. Legacy_ and the officers of the royal navy held the pirates at bay. The sailors were by no means skilled swordsmen, and many men were lost beneath a marauder's grimy blade. He saw a few pirates slip into the hold, and remembered that Anna was down there unarmed. Immediately he made his way to the door that the pirates had disappeared behind, but was attacked from the side by another, who's dark clothes were hanging off of him in wet, heavy shreds. He narrowly dodge a the slash of a sword that was aimed to disembowel him, and brought his own sword down diagonally towards the man's neck. The man was quick to block the blow, and Norrington was steadily pushed back away from the hold as the man in front of him arced his blade down in a blood thirsty frenzy. Norrington could barely keep up with the pirate's pace as he attempted to hack away at the Commodore.

Suddenly there was a loud scraping sound from beneath Norrington's feet, and the _Legacy_ seemed to almost grind to a halt. Norrington lurched to the starboard side of the ship, and scurried to keep his footing as the other inhabitants of the ship were also flung about. The pirates looked at each other and began to retreat to their own ship, apparently recognizing that there was probably a crippling hole in the bottom of the _Legacy_, most likely with thanks to a crag that the ship must have been blown into.

"Keep firing at them!" Norrington shouted as the pirate ship put out their oars and began to pull away. "Damn it." He muttered as he looked around to survey the damage that had been dealt to the once magnificent ship. There were pieces of the taffrail missing in places, and the foresail had drifted off on a passing wave. The mast was splintered, slightly, but would hold, not that it mattered now that they were hooked on something beneath the surface of the still thrashing sea.

Gillette appeared beside him almost immediately as the pirate ship sank into the darkness and the canon fire eventually ceased completely. Without addressing his comrade, he made his way down into the hold to judge the severity of damage that had been done to the bottom of the ship. As he passed the room that Anna was staying in, however, he remembered also the pirates that had stormed down there and did a slight turn about, knocking on her door urgently. There was no answer.

"Ms. Bower." Norrington called as he tried to turn the knob. As he did so, he saw the splinters in the wood, as if a heavy boot had been used as a bludgeon. He looked down the hallway and noticed that several other doors were swinging open, as if they had gone through every room trying to find a treasure cache. The door gave when he turned the latch.

"Anna." He repeated a little less formally as he strode in, his hand on his hilt. His grip tightened when he found the room empty, the duvet from the bed strewn across the floor, where it accompanied the drawers from the desk that sat across from it. Curiously, one of the wall sconces was nestled in one of the drawers.

"Was she taken?" Gillette asked as he poked his head into the room and saw the disarray. Norrington just stared for a moment at the duvet that laid in a heap beside the bed, unsure of what to do. The pirate ship was gone, and there was no chance of pursuit in their current condition. He could not even imagine what they might do to her, and yet... without her his life was also over. She was the only one who knew how to get to _Calypso en Salo_, but he was also responsible for her life. At least, that was the way he felt.

"Commodore?" Gillette urged Norrington out of his daze, walking into the room. Norrington looked up at him, and saw the bookcase behind him, which sparked his memory. He pushed passed his lieutenant and walked to his own room, his boots resounding determinedly down the hall. His door was hanging open as well, and several items from his desk had been swept off, and there was a dagger sticking out from the forehead of the mannequin head that sat on his desk. He ignored the pillage and walked straight over to his closet, where the door also hung open and many outfits seemed to be missing. He found that his heart was racing as he knelt down and ran his hands along the wall to find some sort of latch that would open the small door that Anna had come across earlier. Finally, his fingers ran into a suspicious bump, and he pressed it in.

The door slid away and there was Anna, huddled in the dark with her arms wrapped around her knees, a small candle flickering as a companion beside her. She squinted at the light from the opening and, seeing Norrington, she crawled out from the cramped passageway. Norrington backed out of the closet to give her room to exit, and once she had straightened her posture she threw her arms around him as if he were a close relative that she had not seen in about a decade. But the Commodore felt more relief than surprise or awkwardness and returned the embrace with the arm that he had been fighting for his life with only minutes before.

Someone behind them cleared their throat and Anna jumped away to see Gillette fidgeting in the middle of the room. Thinking quickly, she walked up to him and threw her arms happily around him as well.

* * *

Norrington did not ask Anna to stay in her room, not because the sight of it was a depressing reminder of what had befallen them, but because, for the moment, the Commodore was perfectly content to watch over her.

Norrington led the way down to the bowels of the ship, and Anna brought up the rear. As they descended farther, they had to push around more and more loose debris that had been knocked away from the rest of the ship, either by the storm or the pirate's canons.

Down in the brigs they finally came across where the ship had been pierced as if by an invisible arrow. They could walk no further into the room but to the second to last step, because water had swollen in from the gapping hole in the floor of the ship, lapping at the steps as if it meant to climb up to the next floor. A crows nest from another ship cast a decrepit pall into the room, rotted and molded from so many months or years in the water. Apparently, the hull was being propped up with the help of this mast from a skeleton of a ship far below them on the ocean floor. A school of fish shimmied across his view in the dark water, and he could just barely see it like an apparition.

"Wow." Anna breathed behind him.

"What do we do now?" Gillette asked, leaning over the opaque pool in awe.

"Well, we certainly aren't going anywhere." Norrington muttered as he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, heading back up to the deck. Anna followed him, and after a moment Gillette glanced over his shoulder, and, seeing that he was alone, dashed out of the room. He jogged slightly to catch up, his buckles and weaponry clacking together with his jerky movements.

Back on the deck, Norrington headed towards the captain, who was helping several sailors get the mainsail disengaged from the tangled ropes so that they could furl it properly.

"Storm's beginning to lighten, I reckon." the captain stated when he saw the Commodore approach. Thunder rolled across the sky and Gillette and Anna exchanged doubtful glances.

"The _Legacy_ is hooked on a sunken ship. We can't bring out the oars to push ourselves off, either, because the mast gored a hole in the bottom of the hull. It's the only thing saving us from taking on water and sinking to the depths ourselves." Norrington explained. "Are we within rowing distance from land if we were to take down the longboats?"

"Quite near, actually." the captain said as he stopped what he was doing and turned to Norrington. "But there'll be no rowing out to it in this weather. Think she'll hold till the storm blows over?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." Norrington responded. "But it looks as if we don't have much of a choice."

While they waited for the storm to quell, the sailors made what repairs they could to the best of their abilities. Norrington organized the papers that were scattered along the floor and returned them to his desk, where he shuffled through them to see if anything was missing. He had peeled off his wet shirt and breeches, finding holes and tears here and there in the fabric, and changed into dryer garments, pleased that the entirety of his closet had not been commandeered. Well, the dressings of a member of the royal navy would most likely look unsuitable to any pirate's sense of fashion.

Down the way, Anna was also righting the furniture that had been haphazardly rearranged. She hefted the shelves back into the desk, and once the duvet had been tucked neatly into the mattress, she curled up on top of it and slept through the rest of the storm.

She was awoken by a knock at her door. She blinked the fog of sleep from her vision and crawled off the bed, dragging herself over to the door and opening it. Lieutenant Gillette stood on the other side, his hands clasped behind his back. She turned to look out the window behind her. It looked to be early morning.

"So we have survived the night." she murmured.

"Or, rather, you slept through it." Gillette smirked.

"Oh, I was plenty awake enough for the exciting bits." she remarked, walking out of her room and closing the door behind her. Out on deck the sun bore down on a scarred ship, with a heat that seemed to want to make up for the night before. Two scouts were making their way back on a long boat, their muscles straining as they dug the oars into the water to bring the small boat over a wave. The Commodore and the captain were leaning over a map that was spread over a chess table that had since lost all of its pieces, conversing amongst themselves.

"I've got a bad feeling about all this." Gillette commented, squinting his eyes at the island that was far closer than anyone could have ever guessed the night before.

Anna followed his gaze. "It doesn't look that frightening to me." she said, thinking about the cannibal's eerie homeland.

"Just a feeling I'm getting, is all." Gillette frowned. "Down in my gut."

Anna hit his shoulder, a small, playful tap. It took Gillette by surprise, though, and he jumped. "Stop trying to scare me!" she hissed, genuinely a little anxious at that point.

"I'm sorry... but I wasn't jesting. I wouldn't do that to a lady." He stated, and Anna's frown deepened. That was just what she was afraid of.

"We might be able to find some lumber along this side of the island." the captain said as he used his index and middle fingers to guide an imaginary path from their point of entry to the desired location. "Fixin' the ship's going to be the hard part, seeing as how there's no way we're going to be able to beach the ship."

"We'll pull the ship up between these two rocks." Norrington suggested, pointing to two jagged rocks pointing up like fangs just off of the port side of the ship. Those were probably what sank their little friend below them. "Do you think they'll be able to do that?"

The captain glanced over his shoulder and studied the potential makeshift workshop, his eyes darting out over the scenery as if playing the scenario out in his head.

"It's definitely going to take awhile, but it's probably the best way."

"How long."

The captain scratched his stubbled chin. "Hrm. I'd venture to say, if we got started immediately, we should be finished before sunrise."

"You mean sunset." Norrington corrected hopefully.

"Don't get yer breeches in a twist." the captain laughed. "It's a big hole. You don't want a shoddy job done due to haste."

Norrington's lips thinned, and he sighed through his nose. "All right. Let's evacuate the ship and get started." He turned and looked out at the island, his eyes drifting over the odd shaped mass of land. He felt like he had been there before, but the bearings did not seem to fit. "What island is this?" he asked the captain.

"Well," the captain grunted as he rolled up the map. "Not too long ago this island was actually a place where _The Black Pearl_ gained its infamy as the damned crew of the dead,_ Isla de Muerta._" Norrington stiffened and turned to him, staring at him in disbelief. The captain went on unnoticing. "It's since been swallowed up part way by the sea. Went through a funny transformation, but left everything _but_ the pirate treasure." the captain sighed. "It's a shame, really."

James Norrington turned back to Isla de Muerta, a scowl set as deep in his eyes as his hatred for his past. Some treasures were more valuable out of reach in the depths of obscurity.


	8. Odyssey

Author's Note: I assume everyone is aware that there are some chinks in the timeline. I had originally meant for this to be finished before the third movie came out, now I am glad that it didn't. In other words, by the end of the final chapter, this story line should flow seamlessly into the third movie. You'll see what I mean (wink wink nudge nudge, and all.)

Also, I suppose I should admit that I know absolutely nothing about boats. I mean... ships. All of the pretty vocabulary came from googling. The website was called the Phontistery, I believe.

And I'm sorry for such a long delay. The past few months have been immensely distressing. Although I must thank Lord Cutler Becket for visiting me in my dreams and proposing marriage; inspiration proves to be weirder than I thought (it ended up much like Moonstruck with Commodore Norrington as Nicholas Cage's character). After waking up, the second half of the chapter just started flowing from my mind. I had to use a bucket.

* * *

Pirates of the Caribbean: Calypso's Children

Chapter Whatever: Odyssey

They were closer than ever, and he wondered what would happen when they arrived. Ms. Bower would be taken away, that he knew well, but something had changed since he had first set sail with the second title of Commodore. The plans that had been so carefully laid had shifted ever so slightly, but the result was as meaningful as a change in the wind's direction.

He could hear the sand shift beneath her feet as she approached delicately, the unmistakable footsteps of a lady. He turned with a twist of his torso to greet her.

"Are you going to make a habit of following me around?" He asked with good humor, wondering with a vague interest how she had given Gillette the slip again.

Anna shrugged, but the lift of her shoulders looked more like a tremble. "What else can I do?" she replied. There was a weariness in her voice and a small, pathetic sadness in her eyes. Perhaps she had made the same realization as he had.

Norrington returned to his previous posture as Anna stepped up beside him, and he could watch her out of the corners of his eyes. "You never did finish telling me about Calypso en Salo." he murmured.

She exhaled. "You must have it."

"Yes."

She gazed out across the mountains a moment before speaking, as if taking time to admire the beauty around her before she must succumb to the memories that would darken her eyes like a spell spun hurricane.

"I feel like we're coming to the end of our journey together," she spoke with the dreaminess of a prophet, her fingers intertwined against her belly.

"Your changing the subject," Norrington's tone had dropped; a warning not to anger him. Anna disregarded it.

"It makes me sad," it was almost a whisper, tremulously hanging in the back of her throat. "When I was a little girl," she chuckled, "oh, it seems like centuries ago, now. But when I was little, I always dreamed of living an adventure. Quite covetously. I always had my nose stuck in a book."

"Anna..." Norrington sighed.

Anna whirled to face him, her eyes glassy with tears that she fought fiercely to keep in check. She tended to be a bit emotional, but he supposed that he could not blame her for being so.

"Can you not let me say what I want, before I say what I must?" Norrington swallowed guiltily, taken aback by her blatant display of desires. She acted like every moment was her last, and he could not seem to break from his rules and reasoning. She was endlessly trying to escape, and he was fighting to find his way back. The differences were astounding, but there was an odd sense of completion in knowing there was an opposing force or perception in the world. Nearly straddling both as the outcome of his adventures, Norrington felt himself appreciating both, leaning either way, even as something inside of him held him stuck in limbo.

But the world was moving on, and it was going to leave one of the spirits behind. It begged the question: where would his spirit be when that day came?

"My apologies," he murmured, his eyes flickering downward in regret. Yes, she did at least deserve to tell her story.

Anna smiled a little forlornly, like she was fantasizing about irony. "Well... I guess I was really just stalling. A little." She added the last fragment to her statement when the Commodore arched an eyebrow as he gave her a side-long glance. Anna cleared her throat, but could not keep the smile from her lips.

"I was a dreamer," she continued, eyes falling to the sand beneath her feet.

"I think you still are," James Norrington did not know a lot about Anna Bower, but he knew enough.

"Hmm," she chuckled, digging her toe thoughtfully into the coarse beige below her feet. She ran a small pink tongue over lips that the hot air and salty breeze had dried out. "This wasn't quite what I had in mind," she murmured sadly. "But... I suppose... I'd do it all over again if I had the choice."

Norringtong was baffled. "_Why_?"

Anna shrugged, her gaze shifting to the sky. The storm had made a clean escape; there was not a single cloud– no evidence of the turmoil of the sea. "I don't know where I would be if it were not for the Island de Pelegostos, but... there are certain people you meet..." her brow furrowed and her gaze fell again to the ground as she searched for the right words. "There are certain people we meet that convince us that our lives would have less meaning without them in it."

Briefly it made him think about Jack Sparrow and Will Turner, but he did not muse over the implication very long before the deep insight of her words impacted him. He stared at her, his breath caught in his throat, unsure if what he thought she implied was the correct thing to assume. Heavier still was the realization that he wanted it to be true. He wanted it badly. He wanted her badly. He had been too blind-sighted by his obsession of restoring honor that he had forgotten how empty he felt inside. Perhaps subconsciously that was the purpose of his drive, although he knew honor would not make him content; it would only cover his restlessness opaquely... it was insufficient, but escapism was like an addicting drug. Perhaps he was no different than any pirate after all, only he was simply running on the inside, while desperately searching for something true and stable on the outside. It was possible, though, that he had simply run right passed it.

Anna had said her piece and was met with silence. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself bask in the sorrow before letting it go. Duty was all that was left now. "Calypso en Salo was the birthplace of the great 'goddess' Calypso. It was there Davy Jones tore out his heart, and there he would wait for his love once every ten years." When Norrington heard her begin to speak again, and about the elusive island, he blinked out of his epiphany and nearly asked her to stop, to go back to the words she had nearly said, but could not. His curiosity was far too great, and he felt there was a great power lurking within that bit of history.

"When she did not come as she had promised, Davy Jones cursed the island with his blood. He cast it away in the shadows, but Calypso kept a piece of the island with her in a locket, so she would always be able to find her way back. Davy Jones, in his rage, promised that the blood of innocents would flow should anyone desire to strike him down. In layman's terms, in order to absorb the power of the reaper and not lose your life (which is, of course, what normally happens when you cut out your heart) you must make the exchange on Calypso en Salo with a sacrificial offering."

James Norrington remained silent. He could not have formed words if he wanted to; his mind was reeling with the weight of her words– all of them– and they bore down on his mind and heart like the heavens and earth on Atlas' shoulders. Beside him Anna waited, every second of silence a chip in her heart. Soon there would be nothing left; the fire would be gone, and she would be forsaken as a withered husk. The heart could only take so much. She shuddered, fearing she was the cause of all her pain, that she had magnetized the forces of grief to herself, and was slowly killing herself. As silently as the Commodore stood beside her she walked away, wondering when he would notice that she was gone.

He knew it instantly. It was like snuffing out a candle, but he wanted her to stay only as much as he wanted her to leave, so bound by questions he was. He could hear the babble of the crew behind him, and it was all too much. Too much noise. Too much company.

He stumbled along the beach, headed for a grove of palm trees not far off that leaned like old men with hanging heads over the black water. There was an abandoned chest overturned and half buried in the sand behind the sprawl of trees. He collapsed onto it and thrust his hands through his hair, letting his wig and hat tumble backwards onto the sand.

He felt like he was trying to grab onto thoughts with no avail. They were too wispy, clouding his rationality like smoke. He was suffocating on confusion. It was agony, being so unsure, yet deep inside he felt an inclination that, if he was honest with himself, he was a little scared of. His mind was not allowing himself to grasp the thought. It was amazing what the mind could protect itself from, but it was not always for the best. In this case it was most aggravating, for he felt as if he were on the verge of a deep closure. The values he had learned on his journey for redemption were conflicting with the values he had been taught. Honor and duty, law and order, a fine life and a fine wife.

But what was honor worth now, when the world had been catapulted into the strange and eerie deceptions as the supernatural battled science and shrinking maps? Where was the order, and whose law was the one to abide by? He was far from the fine life had once cherished, and his fine woman had...

He sighed and turned his head from the thought. Opening his eyes, he could see the flutter of a red flame through the foliage, and another flutter of red beyond that as Anna sat obediently at Gillette's side, dirty and disheveled and now, for the first time since he had met her, without a grain of hope in her eyes.

To have come so far and with such form... she may have not been a fine woman, but she was a strong one. Braver than some men he knew. He watched her and realized that it wasn't the fire he wanted to warm her, but his own skin. He swallowed hard and stared down at his feet. No matter what he decided to do from this point forward, he would have to distance himself from her. At least until he had cleared his thoughts and steeled his resolve. He may not know why he was acting as he was, but he did know that he had an order to carry out, and at that moment commands were the only thing that made sense, and even then not by much.

* * *

Lord Cutler Becket observed his stature in the full length mirror that stood on gilded braces in his room, tugging on the navy blue ruffled sleeves of his coat and rolling his shoulders until the fabric lay comfortably across his back. Lack of height never stopped Napoleon, he told himself. There was a clip at the door, and Becket addressed it without turning from his reflection. 

"Come in," he called. Mercer opened the door and strode in, his footsteps making dull thumping noises on the carpet. Becket knew what he meant to tell him before he even opened his mouth. "What, no word from them _still_?" he drawled haughtily.

"Perhaps there were no survivors, and the Commodore was too afraid to come back empty handed," Mercer smiled ruthlessly. Becket grimaced and stalked past him, stomping out the door and making his way down the hall to his study. Mercer followed like a faithful lap dog, eager to perform a trick and receive a treat from his master.

"That is _not_ an option," Becket growled. "He'll be a dead _ex_-Commodore before I allow him to fail me on this." He stopped and stared at the jewelry box that sat, locked, on his desk. It contained the heart of Davy Jones, immortal and ageless and steadily beating behind the beautifully glazed box. He had sat and watched it for hours, amazed as it pulsed without blood to pump through a circulatory system that was perhaps on the other side of the ocean. He had reached out a finger, wanting to touch it, his hand shaking with excitement and disgust. And fear. He had withdrawn, and hated himself for that little bit of weakness.

He rested his fingertips on the jewelry box, and Mercer stared down at the makeshift chest with him. Norrington could not fail him on this; he wanted it too much. He wanted to sink his teeth into the fruit of knowledge, the golden apple of good and evil. He closed his eyes and could feel his mouth watering as he visualized all the power that he hungered for within his grasp.

"What if there are no survivors?" Mercer asked, and Becket's eyes snapped open and then narrowed to slits through which he regarded the closest thing to a friend that he would perhaps ever know.

"One way or another, I will have the power of the sea at my beckon call."

* * *

It had been two nights out on the sea, and they were catching a steady breeze. Unless they somehow happened upon the island of the Cyclops, which, after all that had happened, did not seem as unlikely as before, they should reach a glimpse of Port Royal in two mornings. Staying away from Anna Bower had proved to be a simple task, for Anna herself had not moved from her quarters, although this bothered Norrington a great deal. The first night that she had barricaded herself in her room Norrington, fearing that she had taken her own life, had slipped through the secret passage in the dead of night. He had drawn in close to make sure that the form laying on the bed was still breathing, and had ended up staying for nearly the entire night, hypnotized or something akin to it by the soft pout of her lip and the rise and fall of her chest. 

He had wanted to touch her, in fact his fingertips burned to do so, but with an iron will (and, he supposed, an iron heart) he had stayed his hand, and let the fire in his fingers turn to ice.

He had done it the night before as well, and, if she decided never to emerge from the room for the rest of the voyage, it would become a moonlit ritual; one full of the pain of longing, and the fear of having. Even during the day in her absence he could not resist the thought of her, and it pained him because he could not understand why.

So for the third time he stole into her cabin, sure that this time would consist of nothing more than a glance, quick and impassive, before returned to his own bed. Perhaps he was suffering from a lack of sleep-- that had always seemed to drive men mad (but so did love). Clenching his fist so that his fingernails dug into his palms, he walked forward in precise, controlled footsteps. Check and leave, he reminded himself. And forget her, he added belatedly.

She rolled in her sleep and he froze, his lungs screaming for air as he stopped breathing as well. When she did not open her eyes he allowed himself to draw breath into his nostrils, letting it out in a soft sigh of relief. She had not discovered him, and she was not dead. Satisfied, he turned to leave, but a whisper made him stop again. Had she spoken his name? He turned back to her, kneeling even though every thought in his head cried out that he ought to leave, but like a drugged or condemned man he fell to his knees. He could feel the warmth that radiated from her skin, and his hand moved towards her cheek, and the heat it exuded. _What are you doing?_ He asked himself, knowing that this was the only context that he would never be able to answer the question in.

_Make one slip and you keep falling,_ he realized. _There is no ladder to the top, only a slippery, slippery slope._

His fingers grazed her cheek, and he recoiled as if burned. In a way, he had been, but before he had completely withdrawn his hand, Anna had reached up and grabbed it, not fiercely, but with the grogginess of a dreamer. He could have wrenched his hand out of her grasp and hurried to the door, but he did not. Her eyes opened, blinking, the haze of sleep still settled like a fine mist over her irises, but she knew that it was him.

"Oh... James..." she whispered. His heart missed a beat when she had spoken his first name, and he wondered why she was not surprised to see him here, but did not say anything.

Anna entwined her fingers into his, and still he did not pull his hand away. She wondered if she would have ever had the strength to do simply that if all the shadows that hid them had been gone. Perhaps if she were staring as deeply into his eyes as she was now she might have the courage to do anything. She had thought before that her heart had stood alone, and that his silence was a rejection and a dismissal, but now she could see that it was not. She could see the demons in his eyes, and the soul that valiantly fought them. Whatever the repercussions that the morning would bring did not matter. It was not morning.

Before his mind could catch up to him, Norrington had leaned over and pressed his lips against hers with a tenderness that he had not used in a very long time. Perhaps he had been saving it all for this moment.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm going to end it there because I'm stumped (I'll admit it.) I just found out that I'm not very good at smut. Ha ha, I guess I should say that I'm just not very good putting it into words. I'll work on it. Actually, I was very conflicted about it (should he? Would he? etc, etc...) So I kept it simple and sweet (and painfully vague). :)

Yeah, cheesy and corny. But only because the next chapter will not be so.


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